Trial by Fire
by Anne Murdoch
Summary: Jim and Blair investigate the murder of a troubled woman.
1. Chapter 1

"Yes sir, may I help you?" The well dressed woman looked up expectantly.

"I'm here to see Mr. Williamson." Jim grimly pulled out his badge and flipped it open so that the receptionist could see it. "Detective Ellison, Cascade PD."

The woman picked up the receiver and pressed a button on an impressive looking phone bank, stealing a quick glance at Blair as she did so. "Mr. Williamson, there is a Detective Ellison from the Cascade Police Department here to see you." She paused briefly, "Yes, sir." Looking up, she said, "Mr. Williamson will see you in just a moment, Detective." She gestured towards an expensive looking couch. "Please have a seat."

Jim nodded and glanced briefly around the lobby before sitting down. An oriental rug covered the floor, the furniture was upholstered in soft brown leather and the receptionist's desk appeared to have a marble top. The law firm of Williamson, Brickler and Black was one of the most prestigious in Cascade, and the Williamsons were one of the oldest families in the city. Several public buildings were named after them, including a library. Blair sat down next to him fidgeting nervously. "Take it easy, Blair. Are you sure you want to go in with me?"

"Yes, I'm sure." He didn't sound convinced.

"There's no reason to. Why don't you just sit out here and wait for me."

"No, really Jim. I can handle it. It's just..." He looked for the right words, "hard. Is it always this hard?"

"Always. Just distance yourself, make it impersonal." Jim knew that for Blair, that would be an impossible task. He changed the subject, "So, do you have any more blind dates planned for me?"

Blair smiled, "Uh, no."

"That's good. Whatever made you think I'd want to date a 20-year-old drama student who thinks she's Norma Desmond?" He shook his head, remembering the disastrous date. The woman had spent the whole evening chain smoking, waving her cigarette around with exaggerated hand gestures and regaling him with tales of her work in '_The Theatre_', which up to now had consisted of a few high school musicals and one college production of 'Our Town'.

"Try to remember in the future that I don't date women who call me 'Dahling'"

"Hey, that's not fair! I'd never met her before either. Now, my friend Hillary has a friend that's really nice, and I have met her. You two would be perfect together. She studies..."

Jim cut him off. "I don't care what she studies, Sandburg, the answer is no!"

"But you'd really like her Jim. I swear." Blair was giving him the puppy eyed look now, trying to soften him up. It didn't work as well anymore, now that Jim was wise to his devious ways.

Jim tried not to laugh. "Give it up Sandburg. That's it. The end. No more blind dates. Understand, Chief?" Jim tried to sound stern, but he knew that Sandburg would pester him and chip away at him until he finally relented and went out with this woman just to get the anthropologist to leave him alone. There had to be some way to divert Blair from his quest to find him the perfect woman. "I know, Sandburg, why don't you fix Simon up with her?"

Blair brightened at the thought. "Hey, that's a great idea! Simon hasn't dated much since the divorce. Maybe Hillary has another friend. We could all go out."

Jim groaned. All he'd succeeded in doing was drag Simon into Blair's insidious matchmaking scheme. As he was about to enumerate the many reasons why that was a bad idea, another attractive, well groomed woman emerged from the hallway. "Detective Ellison?" Jim nodded. "Right this way." She turned and the two men followed her down a long hall to a large oak door. As she opened it she announced, "Detective Ellison is here sir, and..."

The woman looked at Blair. He stood there for a few seconds and then jumped a little as he realized what she was waiting for. "Oh! Blair Sandburg."

"...and Mr. Sandburg."

"Bring them in Miss Grant." The man sitting behind the huge cherry desk stood up and strode briskly to meet them. Mr. Williamson was an imposing figure, taller than Jim, but portly and with just the perfect touch of greying black hair. Jim noted his flushed face and heavy breathing; the man was not in the best of shape. Jim guessed he was in his middle to late 60's.

"Detective," Williamson reached out and gripped Jim's hand firmly, then turned to Blair and did the same, "Mr. Sandburg. What can I do for you detective? Please, come sit down." He motioned them towards two chairs in front of his desk. Out of the corner of Jim's eye he could see Blair wincing in pain and massaging his hand.

Jim took a chair and waited for the attorney to sit. "Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

"No, thank you sir."

"Call me Roland. And you?" He glanced at Blair.

Jim heard his friend mumble, "No thanks," and saw that Sandburg was having a hard time making eye contact with the man.

"That will be all, Miss Grant."

"Yes sir." She turned sharply and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

The attorney looked at Blair, appraising him. "You are not with the police department?"

It was a problem Jim frequently had with Sandburg. More than just his appearance made him seem out of place. It was his attitude as well. He simply did not look or act like a policeman. That was what made him such a natural at undercover work, and what drew attention to him when they were on official business.

"I'm a consultant with the department."

Williamson had pulled a cigar from a humidor and was lighting it, leaning back in his chair, blowing small puffs of smoke. "In what capacity?"

Jim could see Blair formulating a less than honest answer, and he quickly changed the subject. An experienced lawyer might be able to recognize the lie. "Mr. Williamson, I'm afraid we have some bad news for you."

"Oh?" He straightened in his chair.

"It's about your daughter, sir."

"Which one?"

"Alice." Jim felt his heartbeat accelerate, and tried to push down the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was always the hardest part. Blair was staring intently at a criminal law book on the shelf, and Jim could hear his heart racing as well. He gritted his teeth and came to the point quickly. It was always better that way. "I'm sorry to have to inform you that she is dead."

All of the aggressiveness suddenly slid away from the man. He dropped his cigar and seemed to be out of breath. "What?"

Jim retained his even, impersonal tone, while Blair stared at the floor, his face flushed. "Her body was discovered at 2 a.m. this morning, behind Tommy's Bar and Grill."

"What?" Williamson was in shock, shaking his head.

Jim turned to Blair, saying quietly, "Go get Ms. Grant."

A wave of relief washed over Sandburg's face as he jumped up and left the room, grateful to have something to do. Normally, a uniformed officer would have been sent to break news like this, but Simon had insisted Jim do it. His captain had said, "A man of Roland Williamson's stature should be treated with respect." Jim had started out in uniform, and the implication of Simon's comment was a little insulting. The Williamson's were rich and had power, though, and he was sure the department would be spending a lot more of its resources to solve this murder than they would if a prostitute had been killed.

The detective waited for the big man to compose himself. Over the years he had broken this kind of news to more people than he cared to remember. There were almost as many types of reactions to the death of a loved one as there were ways to commit murder; rage, panic, fear, shock, even indifference and glee. The way a person reacted to a death could tell the detective a lot about them, including whether or not they were involved in the murder. As he observed the man, he came to the conclusion that Williamson was genuinely shocked and upset. Ellison remained silent. He had also learned to refrain from trite condolences. They weren't appreciated and did nothing to help.

Miss Grant returned, with Blair trailing behind. She carried a tray holding a crystal decanter filled with amber fluid, and several small glasses. Setting the tray down on Williamson's desk, she poured a drink, and handed it to him. "I've called your brother, sir. He should be here shortly."

The man downed the drink in one gulp, and reached out, pouring himself another. This time he sipped it. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at Ellison, "Tell me what happened."

Jim had been called out to the crime scene early this morning. He had left quietly, trying not to waken Blair, something the anthropologist had given him an earful about this morning. An anonymous caller had reported a woman's body in the dumpster behind Tommy's, a bar in the warehouse district. Jim had arrived and found a woman in her late 30's to early 40's. She'd been badly beaten and had a large gash in her head, probably the cause of death. He could tell from the smell that she had been drinking. There was no ID on the body, so they had run her fingerprints and discovered her identity from an old DUI arrest. No murder weapon was found, and a recent downpour had washed away any clues Jim could have used his senses to find. Jim told Mr. Williamson the short version of the story, sparing him as many unpleasant details as he could. The father would hear all of it soon enough.

Roland picked up his cigar and absently chomped on it, trying to absorb what he'd just been told. "Were there any..."

At that moment, a tall thin man in his early 50's with slicked black hair and a goatee rushed into the room, pushing his way between Blair and the assistant, nearly knocking the woman over. Blair reached out quickly to steady her. "Rollie! What's this I hear about Alice?"

"She's dead, Marty." Williamson finished the rest of his drink in a gulp.

"Jesus, what happened?" He turned around swiftly and faced Blair, "Who the hell are you? What's going on?"

Jim put a hand on the man's arm, drawing his attention away from Blair. "I'm Detective Ellison, from the Cascade PD, and you are?"

He shrugged Jim's hand away, facing him. "I'm Martin Williamson, Alice's uncle, and I demand an explanation now!"

In a polite, but commanding voice, Jim said, "Mr. Williamson, why don't you sit down?"

"I don't want to sit down, I want some answers!" There was a dangerous flash in the man's eyes, part fury, part fear. He took a step toward the detective and opened his mouth, preparing for another tirade.

Williamson stood, and in what was undoubtedly his most intimidating courtroom voice said, "Marty, sit down. Now." Jim could see why the lawyer was considered a force to be reckoned with. "I apologize, Detective. My brother has a tendency to fly off the handle." He looked down at his empty glass, and gazed at the decanter, then firmly set the glass on his desk. "I was about to ask, were there any witnesses?"

Before Jim could get a word out of his mouth, Martin Williamson glanced at Miss Grant. "Pour me a drink, sweetheart." The woman crossed the room, poured a drink from the decanter at the man's elbow and handed it to him. He snatched it from her, glaring. "Go away." She retreated again, standing next to Blair. Jim admired her ability to refrain from throwing the drink in his face. She was a nice looking woman, about Jim's age, with shoulder length blonde hair, curled under at the bottom. She was conservatively dressed in a grey suit with a hem line just above the knee. He caught a faint scent of lilacs.

The detective turned his attention back to Roland Williamson. "We haven't been able to find any yet. Tommy's had closed it's doors for business a couple of weeks ago. At that time of night, the area would have been deserted. Do you have any idea why she would have been there, sir?"

Marty cut in, "Slumming, no doubt."

Roland very nearly lost his temper, looking at his brother as if he would like to strangle him. "Alice was an alcoholic, Detective," he said by way of explanation. "No. I don't know why she would have been there. We haven't been on speaking terms lately. So there are no witnesses?"

"We're still looking into it, sir, but it doesn't seem likely."

"Huh," Marty snorted, "You cops are worthless. We have friends in high places. If you don't make an arrest by the end of today, heads will roll!"

Jim felt himself losing patience the man. He was sure that his behavior had nothing to do with being upset over his niece's murder. Williamson fixed his brother with a steady stare, and said evenly. "Shut up."

Sullenly, the ill-mannered man closed his mouth and poured himself another drink. Jim gently questioned the father about Alice. From his early morning visit to the crime scene, he already knew that she was a small woman, 43 years old with brown hair that had been dyed fire engine red, and brown eyes. Using his enhanced sight, he had seen fine scars on her face indicating plastic surgery. She lived at an expensive downtown address. Roland told him that she had been married and divorced six times, but did not have a current boyfriend that he knew of. Her profession was interior design, although she did not work at it often. Mr. Williamson cleared his throat. "One other thing, Detective. This probably has nothing to do with her murder, but I had recently cut Alice off financially. As I mentioned, she's had a long history of alcohol abuse, and I hoped that having no money would force her to deal with her problems. I fear that my actions may have contributed to her death in some way..." He picked up his cigar again, stared at it for a moment and put it down again, struggling with his guilt.

"How so?"

"She had expensive habits, Detective. She may have tried to raise money in a less than prudent way."

Jim's instinct told him that it would be a good time to wrap things up. Mr. Williamson was keeping his composure so far, but only barely. "We'll find out what happened to your daughter, sir." Jim stood. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Are you in charge of the investigation, Detective?"

"Yes, sir." He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to the man. "You can reach me here. If I'm not in you can leave a message." Jim cleared his throat. "We'll need someone to come down today to formally identify your daughter's body. Perhaps your brother?" Jim wanted to give Roland Williamson a way out of the traumatic experience.

"No, no. I'll do it." He stood, struggling to keep himself under control. Turning to his assistant, he said gently, "Eleanor, will you please cancel the rest of my appointments for the day?"

"Yes, sir. I'm so sorry." For the first time, she displayed emotion, tears welling up in her eyes.

"If my wife should call for any reason, make something up. I want to break this to her in person."

"Of course." She turned and disappeared, returning a few seconds later with a coat, which she helped him into. The grieving man lost his concentration for a moment and looked around the room, as if he had lost something.

"Are you all right, sir?" Jim put a steadying hand on the man's arm.

"I'll be fine, Detective, thank you." The man straightened and took a deep breath. "I'll have to stop at home first, and break the news to my wife."

"Of course. That's not a problem at all." Jim reassured him.

"I'm going too. I'll drive you there, Rollie." Marty stood up, slightly off balance.

Jim had seen him gulp down two more drinks as he sat there, bringing the total to four. "I don't think that would be a good idea, sir." He watched as the man poured a fifth drink.

"Or what? You gonna arrest me? Bullshit. I'd have your badge in a heartbeat."

There were times when it took all of Jim's reserves of professionalism to keep himself under control. This was one of those times. Again, Roland Williamson interjected before things could get more hostile. "We'll take the limo."

Blair had been silent the entire time, standing at the back of the room with Ms. Grant, watching the drama with a mixture of horror and fascination. As the brothers left, he began chatting with the assistant, and Jim had a sudden, irrational fear that his partner was trying to set up a date for him with the woman. He walked over and smacked him lightly on the back of the head, interrupting the two. "C'mon, Chief, we've got work to do."

* * *

Blair and Jim met the Williamson brothers at the morgue a little after noon. Jim wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible so that he could get down to the real detective work. The scene at the morgue was one that Jim had seen played out too many times before. It was always difficult. Roland Williamson was a rock through the whole thing, barely betraying any emotion as he positively identified his daughter's body. Martin, on the other hand, gave the body only a nervous glance and then began expressing outrage, mostly directed at Jim, that such a thing could happen in Cascade. His face turned red and he began to look as though he would work himself into a fit. Apparently, his niece's death was the fault of the Cascade Police department, Jim and the breakdown of American society in general. Jim silently withstood the onslaught until Martin ran out of steam. Roland did not intervene this time, probably too occupied with trying to keep from falling apart. Blair had faded into a back corner of the room, trying to look inconspicuous. Apparently he had decided that if he couldn't keep an emotional distance from the case, he would at least keep a physical one. Finally it was over, and the Williamson's retreated to their limo. Jim accepted Roland Williamson's card and promised to keep the father informed of the progress in the case.

"What a jerk." Blair had a look of distaste on his face as he watched the elevator door close on the two men.

"He's involved in it somehow."

"How do you know? A gut feeling?"

"No. He was angry about something, but it wasn't Alice's murder. It was like he was transferring all of his anger into what he thought was a believable reaction to her death."

Blair looked at Jim, astonished. "Whoa, Jim. That's pretty deep reasoning. I must be rubbing off on you."

Jim narrowed his eyes and looked at his partner. "Don't give yourself too much credit, Chief. I didn't become a detective by beating confessions out of people, you know."

"Really?" Blair grinned, "That's what I always heard."

Jim raised his fist and was ready to throw a mock punch, when Simon walked out into the hallway. "I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. If you're going to kill him, could you at least do it somewhere private? This station doesn't need that kind of publicity."

Jim smiled, "Sure, Captain." He grabbed Blair by the scruff of the neck and steered him out the door.

* * *

The next order of business was to check out Alice Williamson's apartment. The doorman, already aware of the murder, let the two men in. As he stepped over the threshold, Jim's nose began to itch and his eyes watered. The smell of perfume hung heavy in the air. He turned down his sense of smell and looked up, only to have his vision assaulted.

Blair was the first to comment. "Gross! I thought she was supposed to be an interior designer?"

Jim scrunched up his nose in disgust, "Maybe she only worked for people who were color blind."

The walls of the living room had been painted a dark shiny green, and then covered with paintings in elaborate gilt frames that were far too large for what they were enclosing. A huge overstuffed couch had been upholstered in orange velvet, with yellow and blue checked throw pillows. There were end tables and coffee tables of vastly different styles and time periods, all covered with scarves and cloths in a riot of patterns and colors. Expensive looking knickknacks following no apparent theme covered every available surface. An oriental rug covered the whole floor, but apparently it wasn't enough, because Jim saw several areas where smaller rugs had been placed on top of it. It was obvious that the room was bigger than Jim's loft, but so much furniture had been crammed into it that it was difficult to navigate.

"Why is it that rich people have such bad taste?" Blair wondered aloud.

"I dunno. Too much time on their hands? Searching this place is going to take a while." Jim instructed Blair on the kinds of things to look for, and both men split up, silently searching the apartment. Besides the living room, there was a dining room, a large kitchen with a pantry, a music room with a grand piano, and two huge bedrooms, each with a full bath. Jim picked the bedroom that seemed the most lived-in and began his inspection. The smell of perfume was so intense in the room that even visualizing a dial turned to zero didn't completely erase it. A large and no doubt expensive, bottle of Chanel No. 5 had a prominent place on her dresser. It's glass stopper was off, and Jim replaced it. He was correct in his assumption that this was Alice's room. On the bedside table, next to an eclectic stack of novels that included a gothic romance and 'War and Peace', Jim found her diary. Further searching revealed a small chest that contained a huge pile of journals, dating back at least 20 years. Alice Williamson had documented her life well. Jim picked up the ones that covered the last year of her life.

Blair wandered in holding a stack of papers. "This is interesting."

"Whatcha got, Chief?"

"Bills. Big ones, and there are a lot of them Most of them are past due." He held up a pink piece of paper. "There are a bunch of collection notices, too." Something caught his eye on a piece of paper and he let out a short laugh.

"What?" Jim smiled and walked over to Blair, looking at the legal notice in his hands.

"One of her customers is taking her to court. They're demanding their money back."

It didn't surprise him at all. "Good work, Sandburg." He held up the journals. "A little light reading for tonight."

Jim felt as though he should be using his sentinel abilities in some way, but he couldn't think how they would be useful unless he knew what he was looking for. Blair suggested he give them a workout anyway. Jim sat on the plump couch and leaned back as Blair's familiar, comforting voice lulled him into semi consciousness. They started with his hearing. It was easy to pick out Blair's heartbeat. Sometimes Jim thought that he could be in a room full of people and he would be able to recognize his guide just by the thumping in his chest. The faucet in the kitchen sink was dripping slowly, and he heard a whoosh as the water heater switched on. Gentle tapping on the roof meant that it was raining again. Outside, he could hear traffic on the street below, and a couple arguing about where to go for dinner. A faint fluttering, flapping sound caught his attention. He didn't recognize it. A loud squawk startled him and he realized that it had been a crow perching on a phone line outside. His concentration was broken, so Blair told him to try his sense of smell instead. The overpowering scent of Chanel was the first thing he noticed, and he had to concentrate for several minutes before he was able to pick out anything else. Recognizing the anthropologist's shampoo, he pushed it away. There had been dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, and Jim noticed the familiar aroma of tomato sauce. Alice Williamson's last meal on earth had probably been spaghetti. There were so many different smells in a home. Laundry detergent, household cleaners, plants, perfumes, makeup, food and human smells. There were even things he couldn't identify. It almost made him dizzy trying to sort through them, but something familiar, something important, was among them all, and he concentrated harder to locate it. Lilacs! He didn't think it was a common fragrance for women, and yet he had encountered it twice today. The first time was in Roland Williamson's office. The lawyer's assistant had been wearing it. What connection did she have to Alice?

The ding of the elevator interrupted his thoughts. Footsteps approached the door. He got up swiftly, putting his hand on his gun, causing Blair to glance up at him nervously. A key turned in the lock and a man entered, looking startled at the sight of the two men. He stood warily by the door, not closing it, as if preparing himself for a quick getaway. "Who are you? Friends of Alice's?"

Jim removed his hand from his gun and walked over to the man, pulling out his wallet, flashing his badge and introducing himself.

The man acted confused. "But why are you here?"

Jim broke the news to the man, who promptly fell to his knees and broke down in unconvincing tears. Blair looked up at his partner, gesturing at the man, raising his eyebrows and smiling slightly as if to say, "Can you believe this guy?" The detective observed the man as he waited for him to 'compose' himself. He looked to be in his early 20's, Jim's height, and muscular, as if he worked out. He was wearing an expensive looking Italian suit, and was carrying a leather briefcase. As the man sobbed, with his hands covering his face, Jim focused on the knuckles of his hands. There was slight swelling and nearly imperceptible bruising there, and small, deep gash on the knuckle of his right middle finger. The detective now had his first concrete suspect. After several minutes, the man pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. There was no wetness there. He stood, staring at the floor. "I can't believe she's dead."

"May I ask who you are and what relationship you had to Ms. Williamson?"

"My name is Jay Richter. I'm...I was Alice's business partner. I just saw her last night...are you sure?" After staring unblinking for almost a minute the man had managed to produce a tear and quickly looked up at Ellison to be sure he'd see it rolling down his cheek.

"Yes, sir. Her father has positively identified her body."

He shook his head sadly. "Oh, the poor man. What happened to Alice?"

"She was murdered. Someone attacked and beat her to death behind Tommy's Bar and Grill early this morning." Jim closely watched the man's reaction. At the word murder he had put his hand to his mouth and looked as though he were about to repeat his earlier performance, but decided against it at the last moment.

"Tommy's? But that's our bar! No, it couldn't have happened there. How awful."

"Your bar? You mean that you own it?" The plot thickened. Tommy's was not the kind of business he would have expected a woman of Alice Williamson's stature to be involved in.

"Alice and I do. We just finalized the deal last month. We had just started to renovate it and turn it into a nightclub."

Blair shook his head, "Why would you want to put a nightclub in that part of town?"

"People like a little danger in their lives. The warehouses, the waterfront. We figured it would be a great selling point."

It didn't sound like a great selling point to Jim. "Did Alice have any enemies that you know of? Had she had any arguments with anyone recently?"

Richter shook his head, "No, none that I can think of. Of course, she was being sued by a customer, but I don't think they hated her work enough to kill her over it." Jay put his hands to his face, shaking his head. "Oh, this is so terrible. I'm afraid I need to be alone for a while."

As Jim watched the man's exhibition, he wondered if Jay had ever met his recent blind date. They seemed to have similar acting skills. "Before you go, I'll need to know where you were last night."

Richter looked startled at the request. "Me? Surely you don't... I understand. You have to ask everyone, right?"

"Sure. So where were you?"

"I was at home, working on the plans for the renovations."

"Was anybody with you? Someone who can verify where you were?"

"Yes, of course! My girlfriend, Eleanor Grant. She works for Alice's father. I was with her all night." He gulped and his face scrunched up as if he were getting ready to cry again. "Are we done? I don't think I can talk about this anymore."

"Just give me a number and address where I can reach you if I have any more questions."

Jay's address was most definitely not uptown. "It's just temporary, you understand. I'm in between moves."

"Uh-huh. OK, Mr. Richter, you're free to leave now. I'm afraid you'll have to turn over the keys to this apartment." Jim didn't want this man removing any vital evidence.

Jay eyed the detective suspiciously. "Why? I have permission from Alice to be here."

"This is a criminal investigation, sir. Is your name on the lease?"

Jay became petulant. "No. But she wasn't killed here, don't you have to have a search warrant?"

"We have her father's permission and he owns the building. The keys, please." Jim held out his hand.

"This is ridiculous, I have every right to be here." He pulled the keys from his pocket and handed them to the detective. "I've got important papers stored here. This is very inconvenient."

Jim would definitely like a look at whatever Jay was eager to get his hands on. "Well, sir, if you tell us what you need, we'll find it for you."

Jay looked frightened at the idea. "No, no. That's all right. I'll get them some other time. I have to be going." He turned on his heel and hurried out the door.

Jim turned to his partner. "Looks like we've got some more searching to do, Chief."

"You think he's the murderer, don't you?"

He had two suspects now, and they had to be connected in some way. "Yes, or at the very least he was the one who beat her up. His knuckles were bruised and swollen, and his heart was racing the entire time he was here. The man was scared to death."

"Not very subtle, either. How could he possibly believe we were buying that load of bull?"

"Beats me. He was definitely an amateur. Now all we have to do is prove he's involved in the murder."

* * *

Blair sat on the table in Simon's office as Jim presented the clues they had gathered so far. The autopsy revealed that although Alice Williamson had been beaten up, death had come from a blow to the head by a blunt object. The condition of the woman's liver indicated that she had been a heavy drinker for many years, and probably would have begun experiencing severe medical problems within the next year if she had lived. There were also traces of cocaine in her system. Jim had also run a check on Jay Richter, revealing that he had spent two years in prison for running a real estate scam in Georgia. He'd been arrested one other time for mail fraud, but had not been prosecuted in exchange for his testimony against his partners. Alice and Jay Richter had indeed signed a contract to buy Tommy's, although where the money had come from was a mystery. Both of them were in debt up to their eyeballs, and Alice's father had cut off her funds. Jim and Blair had gathered up all of the personal papers from Alice's apartment, along with a year's worth of diaries, all of which they would have to sift through later.

The phone rang and Simon answered. Blair's stomach filled with butterflies. He drew his hand through his hair and watched as Simon spoke for a few seconds and then looked up at him glaring. Oh no, not again! How did all these people get Simon's number? The captain slammed down the phone and yelled, "Sandburg!"

Blair cringed and put up his hands, "What? I swear I didn't give anyone your number!"

The look of rage disappeared and was replaced with a stern smile. "And a damn good thing, too! Make sure it stays that way." Simon turned his attention to Jim, who was chuckling to himself. "We've found the cosigner on Alice and Richter's business loan. You'll never guess who it is."

Blair cut in. "Martin Williamson?"

Jim and Simon looked at the anthropologist in amazement. Simon asked, "How did you know that, Sandburg?"

Blair shrugged and looked at Jim with a twinkle in his eye. "A gut feeling."

Simon looked confused at the exchange. "Well we can't convict him on your guts, Sandburg. Maybe you'd like to try finding some hard evidence?"

Blair hopped off the desk, heading for the door. "We're on it, sir."

"Not so fast." Simon turned serious and faced both men. "I want you two to be very careful how you handle this case. Especially you, Sandburg. There haven't been any leaks to the press yet..."

Blair cut in. He didn't like what Simon was implying. "You don't really think I'd do something like that, do you?"

"No, I don't." Simon looked cross at the interruption. "As I was saying, as soon as the press gets a hold of this case, they're going to be watching the department's actions like a hawk. I want you to keep a very low profile, Sandburg. I don't want you two using this 'sentinel' stuff in public. I don't feel like holding a press conference to explain why we have a super hero on the force. Do I make myself clear?" The last question was directed at Sandburg. Simon always seemed worried that someone would find out about Jim's abilities. Blair doubted that anyone would believe him if he told them about it.

"Yes. Sure. Absolutely." Blair got up and picked up the box of papers.

"What's your next move, Jim?"

Jim answered with a straight face. "Well, sir, Robin and I are going back to the bat cave to look at Alice Williamson's journals."

"Ha ha." Simon didn't look amused. Blair wished he could find a way to help the man loosen up a little bit.

Jim was way ahead of him. "Why don't you come over Simon? We'll pick up some Italian on the way."

"No thanks, Jim, I can't. Daryl and I are gonna catch a movie later."

Blair asked, "What movie?"

"Something about explosions, or is it aliens? Maybe it's about exploding aliens. I have no idea."

Blair thought it sounded like a good movie. "Cool."

"Yeah, cool." Simon looked unenthusiastic.

Jim started out the door. "Have a good time, Simon."

Blair couldn't resist a parting shot. "If you need us, just use the bat signal." He pulled the door shut quickly just as Simon hurled a magazine at him.

* * *

Jim and Blair had stopped at the detective's favorite Italian restaurant on the way home and picked up some take out. Now they each sat at the brushed steel table, with a plate of pasta and some red wine, reading Alice Williamson's journals. Jim had taken the most recent one and was opening it when he heard Blair laugh and start to gag on his lasagna. He looked up and saw Sandburg with one of the journals open, his face bright red. Jim got up swiftly and slapped him on the back a couple of times thinking he was choking, but Blair continued to laugh.

"Oh my god." Blair could barely get the words out through the giggles.

"What is it, Chief?"

"I don't think I can read this stuff with you sitting here."

"Why not?"

"This woman's life was NC-17, and she wrote down every gory detail." He looked simultaneously guilty and embarrassed, as if his mother had just caught him reading a Playboy.

When it came to women, sometimes Blair seemed more like a teenager than a grown man. "Well why don't you just skip past those parts and find out who she was sleeping with?"

"OK." It took several seconds for Blair to tear his eyes away from what he had been reading and turn the page. When he did, the look on his face turned to one of shock and disgust. This time when he said, "Oh my god," it was in a completely different tone of voice.

"Spill it, Sandburg."

"Martin Williamson."

"Her uncle?"

Blair shuddered. "Yeah. Oh man, that's disgusting."

Jim took the journal, which was dated a little over a year ago, from Blair and leafed through the pages, scanning quickly. "Apparently they were both wasted and high on coke when it happened." He read out loud, " 'My uncle and I were drawn together by our mutual loathing of my father. Perhaps we were hoping to hurt him in some profound way by our actions, but we only ended up deepening our own pain.' " Jim flipped through more pages, most of which chronicled every mundane detail of Alice's existence. He found what he'd been hoping to.

"What is it, Jim? What did you find?" Blair strained to see the book that Jim held just out of reach.

"Blackmail. Apparently Alice had a falling out with her uncle a month after their encounter. She was threatening to tell her father about it if Martin didn't pay her. The amount of the payments isn't here, but she does indicate that she managed to get some money out of him." He handed the book back to Blair. "We've got a lot of reading to do. I want you to make note of the dates and content of any relevant entries you find."

Blair held up the journal. "Can these be used as evidence?"

"It's pretty damning stuff, but it's purely circumstantial. A good lawyer might be able to get them thrown out."

Blair grabbed a notepad and pen from his room, and returned to the table. Jim noticed that he seemed to have lost all interest in Alice's sexual adventures and was copiously taking notes. As he picked up a journal and began to read, Jim became engrossed himself.

Alice Williamson had been brutally honest about herself in her diaries. She freely admitted her alcoholism and frequent use of cocaine. There was even mention that she doubted her own abilities as an interior designer, and she frequently mocked the 'suckers' that hired her. 'They think that because I come from a wealthy family and act as if I know what I'm doing, they should accept any old crap I decide to sell them.' Sufficiently inebriated, she would sleep with any man who asked her, and frequently awoke in the morning with a stranger beside her. She rarely asked their names. Alice usually chose 'the most dangerous looking men' to bring home, writing, 'Someday I'll pick a man who will put a merciful end to my wretched existence.' Her relationship with her father was more complex. One day she would complain that his high expectations of her had led to her current condition, and the next she would wonder how she could disappoint such a great man.

Hours later, the men were still reading. Blair had moved to the couch, and now yawned and removed his glasses, rubbing red eyes. "This woman was a mess. Classic signs of manic depression. Her highs and lows were incredible." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "She also had a relationship with our prime suspect."

"Jay Richter?" Jim had expected to find mention of an affair with Jay in one of the more recent diaries, but had found only references to their business dealings.

"Yeah, shortly after her affair with her uncle. It ended when they became business partners. Did you find anything interesting in the more recent diaries?"

"She mentions that her uncle could no longer afford to make blackmail payments because he had lost most of his money in a bad investment. Apparently she and Richter were planning some sort of 'deal' that would raise enough money to buy Tommy's, something that frightened her."

"So if Alice had been blackmailing Marty, why would he have been in on the deal to buy Tommy's?"

"Maybe Alice didn't know. There's no mention of his involvement in her diaries. Maybe he and Richter cooked something up." Jim saw Blair yawn again and look at his empty coffee cup, as if contemplating whether or not to stay up or go to bed. "Hey, Chief, it's been a long day. Why don't you hit the sack?"

Blair glanced at the box containing Alice's personal papers. "No, I'm good for another couple of hours. We ought to look through all this stuff." The anthropologist had a lot of stamina when it came to staying up late.

Blair looked at the journal again and seemed about to ask a question. "What's on your mind?"

"You don't suppose that it could have been one of the men she picked up, do you? She said a couple of the guys she brought home got pretty rough with her."

"It's a possibility." Jim didn't really think so. "Something tells me Richter is involved in this, though."

Blair seemed to be struggling with something. "She wanted to die, you know. Everything she did was self-destructive. She was crying out for someone to help her, but no one did. Surely her family had to have seen it?"

"Maybe they tried to help, Blair. Her father was obviously aware of the problem." Jim felt sympathy and pity for Alice, but he couldn't let it get any deeper than that. On this case, though, it was hard to push away. Alice Williamson's journals had been literate, passionate, and full of despair. After hours of reading about this woman's most intimate feelings, Jim felt as if he knew her. "Maybe she was beyond help."

Blair shook his head. "No one is beyond help, Jim. I refuse to believe that."

Jim was too tired to debate the point. "Look, she's dead now, and we didn't know her then. There's nothing we could have done."

"I know." Blair continued to stare at the diary, looking depressed.

One of the dangers of police work was letting things like this eat away at you. Jim had managed fairly well to avoid it, but Blair was more vulnerable and he hadn't seen enough of the bad stuff to develop a hard shell. He hated to see his friend suffer, and at times like this he wondered if he should send Blair back to his college life, so that he could remain the same sweet, decent man that he was. He knew that it wasn't his choice to make, though. People changed as they grew older, and inevitably Blair would too. All that Jim could do as a friend was try to steer him in the right direction and help soften the blows. Jim put his hand on his partner's shoulder. "We'll find out who killed her and then we'll send them to prison. That's all we can do for her, but it has to be enough."

Blair blinked and dropped the book on the table. "Yeah." He refilled his coffee cup and sat on the floor in front of the box of bills. The younger man obviously didn't want to know any more about Alice's personal life tonight. Jim sat on the couch and continued to read. Alice had filled her journal with minute details about her sex life, her decorating jobs, her family and her drinking. There was a depressing sameness to it all and Jim soon felt his eyelids getting heavy. The last thing he remembered was looking over at Sandburg, still wide awake, sitting in front of the fireplace sorting through papers.

**On to Part 2**


	2. Chapter 2

Jim awoke with a sore neck and a splitting headache. He'd fallen asleep on the couch. Blair had put a blanket over him at some point, and Jim wondered how much longer the younger man had outlasted him the night before. Looking at the time, he realized he'd overslept. There was barely enough time to get showered and dressed and grab a cup of coffee. Sandburg was still in bed. Twice he'd looked into Blair's room and told him to get up, seeing only his curly mop peeking above the covers. "Sandburg!" He received a groan in response. "Hey, Sandburg!"

"OK, OK. I'm up!" Blair didn't move.

Jim considered walking into the room and upending the mattress, but when he thought about being accompanied by a pissed off Sandburg for the rest of the day he decided against it. Walking into the kitchen he picked up his keys and shook them, "See you later, Sandburg." Jim poured himself a cup of coffee, swallowed two aspirins and watched as Blair shuffled slowly into the bathroom grumbling to himself and shut the door. Jim poured another cup of coffee for his partner. A few minutes later Blair emerged looking half awake. "Good morning, sunshine." Jim held out the cup. Blair took a few sips, put the cup back down and went back into his room, barely registering Jim's presence.

One cup of coffee later, Blair came out of his room, dressed and ready to go, his hair pulled back. They would be going to the station today, and Jim had noticed lately that Blair tended to wear his hair that way if he was going somewhere he thought he would be kidded about being a hippie. He was bleary-eyed and grouchy looking and, Jim guessed, still depressed after reading the diaries. Jim had been feeling a little low himself, but he hoped that doing some legwork would pull them both out of it. Blair put the journals in his backpack and picked up the box of bills he'd sifted through last night. The two men walked out of the loft. As Jim reached the bottom of the stairs he saw the door to the street open from the outside. Before he could react, a man in a black ski mask rushed in pointing a gun at Jim's head.

"Don't move."

Another man rushed past him and he heard Blair being pushed against the wall and the box being knocked from his partner's grasp, thumping down the steps and spilling papers everywhere. Jim raised his hands and the man removed the gun from his belt. He was roughly turned around and pushed down onto the stairs, catching a brief glimpse of his partner with a revolver under his chin before his cheek was pushed down against the cold tread of the step. Jim ground his teeth. He was getting real tired of seeing his friend with a gun in his face. "What do you want?"

Thug number one shouted, "Shut up!"

Jim heard Blair shout, "No, don't!" just as the butt of a gun struck his head. There was a flash of pain and everything went momentarily grey, slowly resolving into black spots in front of his eyes. A foot on his back pinned him down.

The man behind him kneeled down pressing the gun hard into Jim's back and shuffled the papers near his feet. "Just bills."

Jim couldn't see anything except the wall in front of him, but he heard the second thug talking to Blair. "Where are they?"

Blair sounded defensive. "What?"

Jim felt an excruciating blast of pain in his back as he was punched hard. He fought the urge to cry out. Sandburg's voice turned angry. "Damn you, leave him alone!"

"Where are they?" Jim sensed a fist being raised behind him and he tensed. Where was it going to land this time?

Blair pleaded. "Please, don't. I don't know what you're talking about, man. Just tell me what you want."

"You don't want my partner to use bullets the next time, do you? We could do a lot of damage to your friend before he died. Where are the journals?"

Alice's journals. They were in the backpack that Jim had heard Blair drop behind him. "What, you mean Alice Williamson's?"

"Don't be a smart ass!"

"They're at the station." Blair was using his rare talent again.

"Bull. Where are they?"

"I swear. We locked them up in the evidence room yesterday." Jim thought he sounded convincing.

"Come with me." Jim heard Blair being grabbed by the collar and pulled up the steps, then heard a key in the loft door. The two walked inside and the man told Blair, "Sit there and don't breathe. If you mess with me, you and your partner are dead." By the noise Blair made as he sat, Jim could tell he'd been shoved onto the couch. Jim's sense of hearing was in high gear, and he could almost swear he heard the wheels turning in the anthropologists' head. _No heroics, Sandburg, just let him look around._ Jim prayed that Blair would keep his cool. Several minutes passed as the loft was turned upside down. The man with the gun at Jim's head didn't speak, and only moved occasionally to shift his position. No opportunity to get the gun away from the man had presented itself. It would have been easy to get angry. His head and side were throbbing painfully, and his face hurt where it was pressed against the stair. He didn't like being helpless. In the military he had learned that emotions can get you killed. You had to observe your enemy and look for weaknesses to exploit and above all, show no fear. The fear part was easy to control. He'd been up against far more dangerous men than this. He suspected that they had no intention of killing anyone, otherwise they wouldn't be wearing masks. They were here to do a job, and their job was to find the journals. It was doubtful they even knew the significance of what they were looking for. Finally, the searching stopped and Jim heard the man walking over to Blair. "Where are the journals?"

"I told you, in the evidence room at the station." Jim had to admire how his partner was sticking to his story. He recognized by the loud cracking sound he heard next that Blair had been struck. The detective struggled to maintain his self-control. _Calm down, Jim, he's not going to die from a slap._

"Where are the journals?"

Was that a hint of fear creeping into the anthropologist's voice? "You sound like a broken record, man. I told you where they were. I swear to God we don't have them."

"If you have lied to me about this, I'll come back and shoot you both." Blair was pulled up and the two men walked across the floor and started down the stairs. Jim was pulled to his feet. He looked at Blair and saw that one side of his face was an angry red. "Get his cuffs." The second thug directed. Jim felt the first man fumbling for his handcuffs just as the second man noticed Blair's backpack. "What's this?" Blair and Jim watched silently as he stowed his gun in the waistband of his pants and opened the pack, pulling out Alice's diaries. "We got 'em." The hood held them up triumphantly, then turned to Blair, his voice cold. "You know what's gonna happen to you now, don't you, you lying little weasel."

At that moment, Jim saw his opening. The man behind him was busy trying to get Jim's handcuffs and had lowered his gun slightly. Jim brought his elbow up high and spun around at the same time, catching the man full in the face, hearing and feeling the bones in his nose break. With his other hand he grabbed the man's wrist and hit it hard against the railing, forcing the man to drop his gun. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Blair struggling with his attacker. As Jim subdued his man, he saw Blair fall suddenly backwards, kicking out at the same time, sending thug number two sprawling down the steps and landing at Jim's feet groaning. He looked up at Blair in amazement. "Good job, Sandburg."

Blair looked as surprised as Jim did. "Thanks." He rushed down to Jim's side as the detective cuffed the two men to the railing and retrieved all three guns. "Are you OK, man?" Blair touched the spot on Jim's head where he had been hit and the detective pulled back wincing at the sudden pain.

"I'm fine, don't worry about it. Go call Simon." As Blair disappeared upstairs, Jim removed the two men's masks, read them their rights, then sat on a step above them and regarded them coolly. The man who had hit him was about 5'9" and heavy set. Presently he had his hand cupped over his nose, trying to prevent any more blood from dripping out. Dark hair covered his head and he had bushy eyebrows that met in the middle. The other older man was obviously in charge. He was almost bald, with strings of hair combed from just above his left ear over to the right side of his head in an attempt to look as if he hadn't lost most of it. Also heavy-set, with a single eyebrow, Jim wondered if the two men were related. They both looked slightly familiar.

"What're you looking at?" The balding man inquired.

Jim smiled, "Two guys in a hell of a lot of trouble. You know what's going to happen to you for assaulting a police officer?"

"No, why don't you enlighten me?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Well, you know, the DA doesn't take that kind of thing lightly. Not to mention the fact that you attempted to steal evidence in a murder investigation. I think you'll be able to safely rule out any plea bargains."

"Oh, I'm so scared."

"Uh-huh. Bet you are." He paused and regarded the men silently for a moment. "I swear I've seen you guys somewhere before. You aren't eligible for Three Strikes, are you?"

The younger man, silent up until now, muttered something that sounded like, "Oh, thit."

Baldy jabbed his partner in the side and said, "OK, so you want to make a deal, right? We tell you who hired us and then you let us go?"

Jim laughed, "Let you go? I don't think so. You deserve some jail time just for smacking my partner around. I don't like it when my friends are hurt."

"Hey, it was only a little slap. No harm done."

No harm done? If Blair hadn't knocked him down the steps, he would have beaten the anthropologist to a pulp. "Why don't we start with your names. That should be easy enough for you geniuses, shouldn't it?"

"John Thmith." The younger one said.

"Very funny."

"No. I'm theriouth. John William Thmith." He reached into his back pocket with his free hand and pulled out his ID, handing it to Jim. "Thee?"

Jim glanced at it briefly. "OK. And what about you?" Jim looked at the other man.

"Porky. Porky Pig. I'm th-th-th-theriouth." The man mocked his companion.

Blair had appeared at the top of the steps and stood there, observing the exchange. A few seconds later, Jim heard the sound of sirens in the far distance. "You're just determined to make this hard on yourself, aren't you? Who hired you?"

"Not until I see my lawyer."

Jim turned to John. "You want to play it that way, too?"

"Yeah, I gueth tho." It was hard to understand the man with his hand over his nose.

"OK, it's your life." The sirens were closer now, Jim guessed they were no more than two blocks away.

Blair came down the stairs, gathered up the journals, returned them to his backpack, and then turned to Jim again with a look of concern in his eyes. "Are you sure you're OK? That's a nasty lump. We should take you to a hospital and get it checked out."

Jim turned and looked directly into John Smith's eyes and said calmly. "Maybe I'd better. That way we'll have more evidence at the trial."

The man looked panicked for a moment, then blurted out, "Okay, I'll tell you. It wath Martin Willamthon." Porky jabbed him in the ribs again. Jim glared at him in warning.

"Martin Williamson? How'd he find out we had the journals?" Blair looked surprised.

Jim was a little surprised himself. He had expected to hear that it was Jay Richter, although so far they hadn't found anything in the diaries that incriminated him. Now his theory that the two men were connected was further solidified. "When did he hire you?"

"Thith morning."

The sirens got excruciatingly loud for a moment and then stopped before Jim had time to tune them out. He opened the door and waved at his captain, who had just jumped out of his car. Simon rushed up and looked at Jim and Blair with concern. "Are you guys OK?"

"Fine." Jim reassured him. "We've got a little present for you, sir." He opened the door wide to reveal the two men handcuffed to the railing. "May I present John Smith and Porky Pig."

Simon looked at Porky and smiled sarcastically. "Hello, Fred. How ya been? Only been out of prison, what, a month?"

"Screw you." Fred said.

Simon ignored him and turned to Jim. "Sandburg said they were after the journals you found at Alice Williamson's apartment?"

"Yeah. They didn't get them." He said it loud enough for the prisoners to hear.

Simon looked at Jim's head with concern. "Hey, that's pretty nasty. You need a doctor?"

Blair was smiling. "See, I told you. A head injury is nothing to mess with, I should know."

Simon looked at Blair, "He hasn't been saying anything about having reptiles in his drawers, has he?"

The anthropologist flushed, he'd been teased relentlessly about the incident. He shook his head. "No, I don't think it's that bad. You really should get it checked out, Jim."

Jim knew that with both men pestering him, he had no chance of winning this argument. "All right, all right, Mommy. Let's just get these guys taken care of, OK?"

* * *

With Simon on his side for once, Blair had managed to convince Jim that he should drive the truck to the hospital. He could tell that the detective was hating every moment of it. Jim couldn't stand being fussed over. The emergency room was busy and after they spent an hour waiting, with Jim getting more and more testy by the minute, Blair finally relented. He knew the detective wanted to be at the station with Simon interrogating John and Fred Smith. Jim promised to make an appointment with his doctor, but Blair didn't trust him to do it, so he made him call from a pay phone outside the emergency room.

Jim hung up and shot a look at Blair. "Happy now?"

Blair smiled, "Yes." He turned and walked to the truck, Jim close on his heels. Jim's hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around.

"Not so fast, Chief."

Blair looked at Jim innocently, "What?"

The detective held out his hand, palm up. "Keys."

"I can drive. Really, it's no problem. In fact, I like to drive. You might be surprised to know that I've been doing it for over 10 years."

"Keys." Jim said more forcefully.

Blair pulled the keys from his pocket, grinning mischievously. "What? You mean these?" He dangled them up for a moment and turned on his heel, making a break for the truck, pressing the button to unlock the doors as he went. Jim caught him just as he pulled open the door, and put both hands on his coat lifting him slightly off the ground, wincing. Blair immediately felt guilty about forgetting Jim's injuries. "OK! Here, I surrender." He held up the keys and dropped them into his friend's hand. Jim got in and started the car, revving the engine, and Blair rushed over to the passenger door, jumping in just as his partner put the car in drive. He scowled at Jim, who was smiling as he peeled out of the parking lot. "You know, there's a tribe in the Amazon that believes that in the afterlife, the gods cut off the hands of those who refused to share their material belongings."

"I'm sure there is, Sandburg."

"Just something to keep in mind." Blair had long ago given up getting angry about not being allowed to drive the car when they were together. He was still amazed he'd been allowed to drive Jim to the hospital. He supposed that Simon ordering him to had helped. Halfway to the station, Simon called to tell Jim that the Smiths had confessed, implicating Martin in exchange for a reduced sentence. "So what now? Do we arrest Martin Williamson?"

"Not just yet, Chief. Just because he wanted the diaries doesn't prove that he killed his niece. We need to find a way to connect him to the murder."

* * *

Jim pulled the truck up a long circular drive to a huge house on a cliff overlooking the bay. It was a modern home and appeared to be made of enormous blocks stacked haphazardly on top of one another, creating an effect a little like a white mountain. The sun had come out and as Jim and Blair walked toward the house, the sentinel had to shade his eyes from the glare. A small arched tunnel led into an enclosed courtyard with a pool filled with exotic looking fish and a small waterfall. Blair had that familiar look of wonder on his face, like a little kid in a toy store. Jim had not noticed any security cameras, but he noted with approval that the door opened when the two men approached it. As wealthy as the Williamson's were, the security measures should be invisible. The large man who answered the door said, "Come in Detective Ellison, Mr. Sandburg." He opened the door wide and stepped aside, "Mr. Williamson will be with you in just a moment."

Jim and Blair followed the man across a black marble floor into a cavernous room, almost three stories high. The entire wall facing the bay was made of glass, offering a spectacular view. Elegant and comfortable looking furniture filled the center part of the room, a dining area was near the window, and several other seating areas made the place look as though it were designed for parties. They were led through another door and out onto the verandah, where there was a large white oak table and chairs. "Have a seat, sirs. May I get you anything?"

Blair asked for coffee and Jim declined. He walked over to the edge of the verandah. It was a beautiful day and he could see about 20 sailboats with colorful spinnakers racing below. Blair appeared at his elbow, following Jim's gaze. "Forget what I said about rich people having no taste. This place is awesome, man."

"I'm glad you like it, Mr. Sandburg. It's one of the few remaining joys in my life." Blair spun around and Jim turned. "I assume you were referring to my daughter's apartment?" Roland Williamson was impeccably dressed and as polite as he had been yesterday, but he looked very tired.

Blair was tongue-tied. "No..."

"That's all right. It was just one of the ways she rebelled against this family. She wanted to keep nothing from her life here, even good taste." Mr. Williamson walked to the table and gestured for the two men to sit down. The servant returned with a steaming cup of coffee in a large blue mug for Blair. "My wife wanted to speak to you, but I'm afraid she's gone to the airport to pick up my other two daughters. Perhaps you can speak to her later?"

"Certainly."

Roland looked at Jim and noticed for the first time the bruise where his cheek had been knocked against the steps. "What happened to you, Detective?"

"That's what I'm here to talk to you about, sir. We found diaries in your daughter's apartment that contained entries that may have some significance in the case."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Blair look up suddenly and mutter under his breath "Martin".

Jim didn't look in the direction of Blair's gaze, but instead raised his voice slightly. "My partner and I were attacked by two men this morning who were after the diaries. We have the men in police custody. They weren't working alone and we're confident that they will name their employer in order to reduce their sentence. We feel that we're close to making an arrest in the case, and we wanted to keep you up to date."

"Do you think these men killed my daughter?"

"It's not likely. They have a history of hiring themselves out for strong-arm stuff like loan collections and intimidation, but they claim to have alibi's for the night of Alice's murder. We're checking them out now. I suspect they'll be good." Jim could see that Blair was glancing occasionally behind him, and knew that Martin was still watching.

"What was in the diaries?"

Jim definitely didn't want to inform Roland about his daughter and brother's relationship if he could help it. "I can't tell you that right now, sir. I hope you understand."

"Yes, I suppose so."

Blair looked at Jim and nodded his head signaling that it was time to leave. Jim stood and held out his hand. "I'm sorry we don't have more for you."

Roland shook it, saying, "I appreciate you coming all the way out here just to keep me updated, Detective. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir."

"Mr. Sandburg."

Blair shook his hand. "Thanks for the coffee, sir."

Roland held onto his hand for a moment, preventing him from leaving as quickly as he wanted to. The older man eyed Blair curiously. "You'll have to tell me some time exactly what it is you do for the police department, young man."

Blair had been intimidated by this man from the moment he had met him. Roland was larger than life and had a commanding presence. Blair was sure that if he were ever alone with this man for awhile, the lawyer would eventually pry the truth out of him. When Jim started to walk away, he saw his chance for escape. "Sure. Some other time, though." He gestured toward his partner. "I've gotta get going. Goodbye." He laughed nervously and pulled his hand away, walking quickly to catch up with his partner.

Jim was walking out of the house as fast as he dared without drawing suspicion. If Martin had a good lead on them he was going to be difficult to follow. He noticed that Blair, with his shorter legs, almost had to run to keep up with him. They arrived at the truck just as Martin was pulling his black Lamborghini out of the driveway. Jim stood still for a moment and focused in on the sound of the engine. When he had picked out it's peculiarities he got into the truck. Blair knew what he was up to, and remained silent. Jim started the engine and waited until Martin was about a block away, then pulled slowly out of the driveway, picking out the direction the car had gone. They hung back, with Jim concentrating and Blair watching the road. "Stop light." Blair touched Jim on the arm to get his attention. They weren't in an area with heavy traffic, so he was able to follow the sound for several blocks. He knew that Blair would have preferred to drive in instances like this, allowing Jim to direct him. It was probably a good idea, but Jim felt that he could track better when he was in the driver's seat. "Green." Jim stepped on the gas to make up for lost ground. They drove for about 20 minutes and finally ended up in the warehouse district. There was almost no traffic here and Jim feared he would be spotted, so he pulled into an alley, then turned onto a street parallel to his prey. At this point, if he'd lost Martin, he wouldn't have been worried. He had a pretty good idea where he was going. A few minutes later, they pulled up behind Tommy's. There was already a car parked in the lot, and Jim phoned in the license plate number. It was Jay Richter's.

Blair broke his silence. "Can you hear them in there?"

"No. There's too much noise out here, and I don't know where they are."

"Did you filter out the background noise?"

Jim was beginning to feel frustrated again. Would he ever be completely in control of his senses? "I tried, it's not doing any good."

Blair opened the door and got out. "Let's look around the building. Maybe we can find an open window."

The sun was setting, making long shadows as the two men walked. This was an old area of town, and the warehouses, made of crumbling red brick blackened by soot and age and dotted with multi-paned windows full of broken glass, looked almost haunted. Tommy's was a small two story brick building that might have been a gas station at one time. There had been an addition added at some point in the past, almost tripling its original size. A neon sign forming the word "Beer" hung over a steel door at the entrance of the building. Jim could see no mention of the bar's name anywhere. Yellow police tape still marked off an area in the alley around the dumpster. The wind had freed one end of the tape and it was fluttering against the side of the building. "Here." Blair pointed to a broken window on the second floor, near a fire escape. "Focus on that, see if you can hear anything inside."

Jim concentrated for several seconds and heard what sounded like muffled voices. He tried to focus more, but still couldn't make out words. Martin and Jay were somewhere deep within the building, probably behind closed doors. "It's not working, I need to be closer to the window." He pulled down the ladder for the fire escape and climbed up, ordering Blair to stay below.

His guide spoke to him softly. "Make those two voices the most important thing to you. Nothing else exists. No sights, no smells, no feelings, only the sound of those two voices."

As Jim squatted near the window, he could tell that the two men were arguing about something. Jim regulated his breathing, closed his eyes and concentrated. It was definitely Jay and Martin, and they were arguing about money. With each word he recognized, more words fell into place until he could hear both men clearly.

"...need the money. I don't want to wait any more."

"It'll be too suspicious Marty. Alice has only been dead for two days. What are the cops going to think if this place goes up so soon? They're bound to make a connection."

"Screw the cops, they couldn't find their asses with both hands. I need the money. I've got a sweet little deal lined up and it's gonna pass me by if I don't move on it in the next month. The insurance will take at least that long to come through."

"I don't care about any more of your 'sweet' deals, Marty. They all lose money. We wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't been so greedy. You didn't need to kill Alice, we could have convinced her to go along with this."

"Alice was a drunk and a loser. She got what she deserved. And let's not forget, Jay, you're the one who beat the living hell out of her in the first place."

"Well what about those guys you hired to steal the journals? Those were cops they attacked. They're going to sell us out for a plea bargain before the day is out."

"My boys didn't say anything yet, and they won't if they know what's good for them. Besides, I just sent one of my brother's partners over there to bail them out. Everything's cool. There's a lot of money to be made here if everyone keeps their cool."

"Hah! You couldn't pay those dumb goons enough to go to jail for you."

"Listen, Jay, I don't want any more crap out of you. This is my operation. I provided the means to buy this place. I'm the one who arranged to get the drugs into this country, right? I'm the one who made the deal, I'm the one who risked life and limb, and I'll make all the goddamn decisions! Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it."

Jim heard footsteps across a wooden floor. "Where are you going?"

"I dunno, Marty, I thought maybe Mexico. I hear it's nice this time of year. Basically, I've put up with as much bullshit as I'm going to from you, you arrogant little twit. As far as I'm concerned, if I make it out of this with my life and my freedom and not a penny in my pocket, I'll be happy."

"Fine, go."

Jim heard movement, then a sharp report. It was so loud to Jim's sensitive ears that he fell back, almost toppling over the edge of the fire escape. He watched helplessly as his cell phone fell from his pocket and landed on the concrete below, bursting open. Blair cried out in alarm and began to climb the ladder to help him, but Jim put up his hand. "Blair, go to the truck and call for backup, I think Jay Richter's just been shot. Get a hold of Simon and fill him in. Stay there until help arrives. Understand?"

"Are you OK? I should go with you."

Blair started up the ladder again, but Jim gave him a stern look. "Sandburg, do what I ask you to for once. I need backup, and you're the only person I see around here that can get it."

Blair looked worried. "Jim, you shouldn't go in there by yourself. Why don't we just wait for help?"

"Look Blair, I appreciate the concern, but I'm a big boy. Go back to the truck. Please."

Blair was starting to lose his temper. "Damn it, Jim, I'm your partner. Something that you choose not to notice when it suits you, and I don't think this is a good idea."

"I don't care what you think, Sandburg, just do what I tell you!" Jim regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but time was ticking away while they were standing out here arguing. Jim respected the younger man, and he had a good point. Maybe he was being overprotective of his guide. Jim opened his mouth to apologize, but Blair had already stormed off in the direction of the truck. It would have to wait until later. He turned to the broken window and climbed through, entering a small room with a sink and a mattress on the floor. "Lovely place," he thought as he walked quietly through the room, listening for sounds of Martin Williamson. As he opened the door, it creaked loudly, and he stopped, holding his breath. Somewhere on the first floor he could hear the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor. Was Marty trying to get rid of the body? Jim hoped that Blair would have sense enough to lay low if the man came out of the building. The dragging sound stopped and Jim stepped cautiously through the doorway and started down the hall. Footsteps crossed the floor below him, and then he heard a deep metallic clanking sound and a sloshing, like two metal containers full of liquid were being banged together. As he reached the top of the stairs he could have sworn he smelled lilacs, but his attention was diverted by a shadow passing below. There was splashing, and Jim's head reeled at the fumes that rose from below. Gasoline. Marty was going to torch the place. As Jim began to recover his senses, he felt two hands on his back pushing with great force. He tumbled over, landing on his back and sliding painfully down the steps, watching as his gun flew out of his hand. The floor came up to greet him swiftly. Another burst of pain hit him as he reached the bottom, and he lay there for a few seconds, stunned. Jim turned on his side and saw Richter's body lying in a pool of blood a short distance away with a gun in his hand. Obviously someone was trying to make the bullet in his head look like a suicide. Marty appeared above him grinning and pointing a pistol. "Nice job, Eleanor."

Someone was descending the stairs and Jim turned to look. It was Roland's assistant and Jay Richter's supposed girlfriend, Eleanor Grant. "You get around, don't you?"

She smiled pleasantly at him. "I go where the money is, Detective." Kneeling down, she picked up Jim's gun and pointed it at him. "Get up, please." With both Eleanor and Marty pointing guns at him, Jim had no choice but to comply. Unlike the thugs who he and Blair had met earlier in the day, he was sure that these people wouldn't hesitate to kill him. Blair had almost certainly called for reinforcements by now, and Jim only needed to keep his cool until help arrived. He listened, alert for the sound of far off sirens. Eleanor motioned with her gun, and Jim climbed the steps and entered a store room. He was pushed toward a large metal pShe smiled pleasantly at him. "I go where the money is, Detective." Kneeling down, she picked up Jim's gun and pointed it at him. "Get up, please." With both Eleanor and Marty pointing guns at him, Jim had no choice but to comply. Unlike the thugs who he and Blair had met earlier in the day, he was sure that these people wouldn't hesitate to kill him. Blair had almost certainly called for reinforcements by now, and Jim only needed to keep his cool until help arrived. He listened, alert for the sound of far off sirens. Eleanor motioned with her gun, and Jim climbed the steps and entered a store room. He was pushed toward a large metal pipe that was bolted to the floor and ceiling. "Take out your handcuffs." Jim noticed that the two were keeping their distance from him. He wasn't going to be able to get the jump on them. "Now put it around one wrist, then put your hands behind your back around that pole. Now, attach the other cuff." When Jim was done, Ellie handed her gun to Marty and walked behind him to tighten them. Once she was sure that he wasn't going anywhere, she retrieved her gun and wordlessly and left the room.

Jim regarded Martin thoughtfully. "What, no last minute confessions? I thought you criminal types always liked to brag about your dirty deeds to your victims."

Marty walked over to Jim, sneering. "Pardon me if we don't stay, Detective. We'll be outside roasting marshmallows." He held up his gun, cocking it. "And don't worry about your sidekick. We'll make sure Jay kills him, too." He turned and left the room, chuckling to himself. Jim strained for any sounds of sirens, but still there was nothing. Dammit, Sandburg! If he hadn't called, Jim was going to ring his neck. Assuming either of them made it out of this alive. There was more movement below, and then Jim heard the unmistakable striking of a match, and a whoosh as the gasoline caught fire.

There was no way Martin was going to get away with his plans now. Jay's death might possibly have been believed a suicide before Jim had arrived. Now, no decent detective would believe that it was anything but murder. Did Marty really believe that the cops or the insurance company would buy a scenario in which Jay goes nuts and kills two people, then lights the building on fire and shoots himself? Jim realized that it was possible. He'd seen stranger things in his years on the force. Still, Jay wouldn't be getting his money as soon as he wanted it, even if he got away with murder. The investigation into something like this would take a long time. Jim shook himself, refusing to accept the fact that he was about to die.

Now that the shock of the situation had worn off, Jim was beginning to feel the effects of the fall down the steps. His back hurt and he was sure he had a couple of broken ribs. The spot where he had been punched this morning was throbbing painfully again. He turned his sense of pain down as far as he could, concentrating on locating sounds outside the building and trying to ignore the growing crackling of the flames on the first floor. Smoke had begun to be visible at the top of the stairs. Jim's heart skipped several beats as he heard the sound of gunfire outside. Three shots in rapid succession and then nothing. Oh, God, it had to be Sandburg! He yanked desperately at the cuffs, hoping to pull his hands free like he had on the oil rig. This time, though, they had been fastened tightly, and there was nothing to lubricate his hands. He pulled harder at them, feeling the warm trickle of blood on his wrists. If Sandburg was dead, then it was his fault. He should have kept the anthropologist with him, like he had asked. Eleanor would never have gotten the drop on him if he'd had Blair watching his back. A thin fog of smoke had begun to fill the room, and Jim's lungs started to itch. He suppressed the urge to cough and looked around for something that he could use to free himself. As he did, he finally heard the sound of sirens in the distance. The far distance. So far away that he had no idea if they were coming to the bar or hurrying off to some other emergency. Jim wondered what it was going to feel like to die of smoke inhalation.

* * *

Blair had run immediately to the truck to get the cell phone from his backpack, not realizing until he got there that it was locked and Jim had the keys. Even though he was angry at Jim for his dismissal, he had a fierce internal battle for a full minute before he finally summoned up the courage to put a brick through the window. Once he called Simon, he had had to withstand a deluge of recriminations for not calling in and telling him where they were going. His mood was going downhill fast. When he finally got a word in edgewise, and told Simon that Jim was in trouble, the captain dispatched help immediately. He remained on the phone with Simon, trying not to worry about Jim and explaining what had happened. Blair was looking out the windshield of the truck, waiting for Jim, when Ms. Grant suddenly appeared around the corner, pointing a gun at him and firing. He fell to the ground immediately, hearing Simon's concerned yells over the phone. When the woman was close enough, Blair had leapt up, slinging his backpack down on her arm as hard as he could, knocking the gun from her hand. Rushing for it, he beat the woman there by milliseconds. As he picked it up he immediately recognized that it was Jim's. "Where is he?" He yelled at her, trying not to let fear overcome him.

"It's too late." She mumbled and looked around as if she were expecting someone else.

Hadn't Jim said that Martin Williamson was here? "What do you mean, too late?"

"The building is on fire. It's too late."

"Oh, my God." Blair smelled smoke for the first time. He grabbed the woman's arm, squeezing hard. "Where the hell is he?"

"He's on the second floor, in the store room."

Leaving the woman in the alley, he ran to the door of the bar, forgetting the fact that Marty was still around somewhere.

* * *

Jim had turned all of his senses down except hearing. He realized that doing this would not stop the smoke from harming him, but if he didn't feel it's effects he might be able to remain clear-headed for a while longer. The sirens still seemed a long way off, but they were getting closer. Maybe Sandburg had been able to call for backup after all. He prayed his guide wasn't dead, but he deeply feared it. What else could those shots have meant? Blair had no weapon of his own. Jim had left him defenseless. It was too late to admit now that he had made a mistake, not letting Sandburg come with him. When he had been in the jungle to rescue Simon, he'd had a dream. In it, he had awakened in the middle of the night, and Blair wasn't there. The dream seemed so real, and he felt a terrible urgency in it. He had to find Blair, he needed him. Walking through the jungle alone, looking for his guide, he felt empty and helpless. It was then that the panther attacked him. All this time, he had ignored the significance of the dream. Blair was his guide, as much a part of his sentinel self as his extraordinary abilities. He was necessary to his survival. On some level, he had always known this, but couldn't allow himself to be dependent on the anthropologist. Depending on anyone else meant a loss of control, and in a sense, freedom. Now he was paying for his thick headedness with his life, and Blair probably already had.

The smoke was dense now, and Jim could not see the top of the steps anymore. His eyes were burning and he closed them, realizing as he did that it had become very difficult to breathe. When had he fallen to his knees? He couldn't remember doing it. Damn it, he refused to die this way! He pulled again at the handcuffs but they refused to budge. There was nothing nearby that he could use to force them open. The pocket knife in his front pocket was completely beyond his reach. For the first time since he was in the jungle, he was truly afraid that he was going to die. The pain in his lungs was terrible, as if something heavy were pressing down on him, pushing the air out. The sirens seemed close now, but they would still be too late. Jim tried to summon the breath to yell for help, but only fell into shuddering, life stealing coughs. As unconsciousness overtook him, he thought he heard Blair's voice, but he didn't have the strength to answer him.

* * *

Blair entered Tommy's and saw flames everywhere. Even the floor was on fire. He looked furtively for a path through it. Pulling the front of his T-shirt up over his mouth and nose, he ran through the room as fast as he could. About halfway to the steps, Blair's feet caught on something and he went sprawling. When he saw the body, he let out a short yelp, thinking for a moment that it was Jim lying there. With great horror and relief, he saw that it was Jay Richter. He scrambled up and climbed the stairs two at a time, tears streaming down his eyes from the smoke. A door to his right stood ajar and he scanned the room. Blair's heart stopped as he saw Jim slumped on the floor near the center of the room. He rushed over and saw that Jim was unconscious and handcuffed to a heavy pipe. The smoke and heat were already threatening to overcome him, and he rushed over to a window, smashing the glass with his elbow. He leaned his head out and gulped in cool, clean air, trying to clear his head. Jim had a key, right? Where did he keep it? In his pocket somewhere. Oh, God, he was afraid! Taking one last gulp of air, he pulled his head back in and rushed back to his partner's side, searching his pockets and trying not to notice Jim's stillness. Checking for a pulse was out of the question. Blair didn't want to know yet. His panic rose as it became harder to breathe. He couldn't find the key, and the smoke was getting thicker. Blair needed to get Jim out of the building now.

He still had Jim's gun in his waistband. Blair hated guns, and had been reluctant to take it with him, but the alternative had been leaving it with Ms. Grant. Now he could use it to break the chain on the cuffs. First he tried hitting the chain with the butt of the gun, knowing even as he did it that it wasn't going to work. Blair had seen Jim cleaning his gun enough to know how it worked. He released the safety and placed the nuzzle against the chain, pointed down and carefully pulled the trigger, closing his eyes. The gun jumped back in his hand, but when he opened his eyes he saw that the chain was undamaged. He'd missed. Racking coughs hit him again, and he knew that he would succumb to the smoke himself if he didn't get out soon, so he took aim again. Praying that he wouldn't shoot himself or Jim, he pulled the trigger, and saw Jim's hands spread apart as the chain broke free.

"Thank you, thank you, thank, you," he muttered to whatever gods were watching over them. Dropping the gun, Blair put his hands under Jim's arms and began to pull him out of the room. Straining to drag the larger man, he took a deep breath and immediately started to black out. Knowing that if he passed out both of them would die, he stumbled back to the window, sucking in more fresh air. The sirens were very close now, Simon would be here soon. As the smoke poured around him out of the window, he froze. The thought of burning alive scared the hell out of him. Had he asked Simon to call the fire department? Some part of him wanted to remain here until help arrived, but the thought of Jim inside suffocating broke him out of his paralyzing fear and he moved back into the room. Guilt almost overwhelmed him when he saw his partner lying motionless on the floor, barely visible through the thick smoke. Pulling Jim to the top of the stairs, Blair saw that they would no longer be able to get out that way. He could feel the blasting heat of the flames and the smoke was so thick and black now that he could not see in front of him. He held his breath, and in a surge of adrenaline dragged Jim in a direction that he thought would lead him to the room with the broken window.

Everything became a blur after that. Somehow he managed to get Jim over the sill, out through the window and onto the fire escape, but there was no way he could get Jim down the ladder without dropping him. Smoke was billowing from the window and he could see flames starting to lick up the walls of the hallway. Staying was not an option. Blair ducked once more into the room and pulled the mattress out onto the fire escape. He dropped it below the ladder and then maneuvered Jim over the edge, feet first. Holding onto him as long as his strength held out, Blair managed to lower him part of the way before he lost his grip. Jim fell onto the mattress and then bounced off, rolling over.

Blair hurried down the ladder. Leaning over his friend, he turned him on his back and felt for a pulse. It was weak, and when he listened to his chest, he found that Jim wasn't breathing. Blair tried to remember the training he had several years ago. He pulled Jim's head back and checked his mouth to make sure he hadn't swallowed his tongue. His hands, streaked with black soot, were shaking as he pinched Jim's nose. Blair took a deep breath and immediately fell into a coughing fit. When he finally stopped, he took a smaller breath and blew into Jim's mouth, watching as his chest rose, then fell. He continued until he fell into a rhythm, always watching for Jim to start breathing on his own. In his head, he kept repeating the words, "Don't die Jim" like a mantra. The sirens had stopped now, and Blair wondered what was taking them so long to find him. He was beginning to feel exhausted. The black spots in front of his eyes were growing more numerous, but he refused to give up on his friend. A Sentinel wasn't supposed to die like this. Blair felt another fit coming on and was trying to suppress it when he saw Jim's eyes flutter open and listened with relief as his partner began to cough. He rested his hand on Jim's chest to reassure himself that his friend was really alive, fighting the urge to start crying.

"It's too bad you went to all that trouble. Now I'm going to have to waste a bullet on him, too."

Blair turned slowly and looked up at Martin Williamson, who was pointing a gun at him. A feeling of unreality flooded over him. It was as though he weren't in his body anymore, but merely an observer. Time itself had slowed down. So this was how it was going to end. Simon would find them both dead in the same alley where Alice Williamson had died. Fascinated, Blair watched as the smiling man cocked the gun and began to squeeze the trigger.

Someone yelled, "Stop!" The gun moved from his head, and Blair heard an explosion in his ear as the gun went off, brick flying as the bullet struck the side of the building. He heard an echoing shot, and saw something explode in Martin's arm, knocking the man over. Blair looked over at the direction the shout had come from and saw Simon standing with his gun drawn. Everything was spinning wildly. He collapsed and lay on the hard gravel of the alley, noticing as he gazed up that he could see stars through the smoke. It was a beautiful night. Simon was barking orders as he rushed over to them. The building was fully engulfed, and flames were shooting from the window he had just pulled Jim through. He knew that he should get Jim farther away from it, but his limbs felt like lead and he was starting to feel cold. The fire escape he had dropped Jim from seemed improbably high up, and he wondered how he had managed to get Jim down without breaking his neck. Martin began moaning as two officers carried him away under Simon's orders. Panic struck Blair and he sat up quickly, leaning over Jim, listening to make sure that he was still alive.

* * *

"Take it easy, Blair. The ambulance is here." Simon put a hand on his shoulder.

Blair sighed in relief, bringing on more painful coughing. "He wasn't breathing before." He croaked.

Simon pulled Blair's jacket open and began feeling around his back and chest for bullet wounds. He thought he'd been too late when he saw Sandburg fall. "Are you hit? You passed out there for a minute."

"No. I'm OK. It's Jim that needs help. Please, we have to get him away from this building." Simon could see him shaking, he was going into shock.

"Take it easy, Blair. We already have." Simon gestured to the officers who had returned from carting Martin away and had just picked up Jim and carried him to a nearby stretcher.

"He stopped breathing, Simon."

"You said that before, Blair. He's breathing now." Simon helped Blair to his feet, supporting him as the anthropologists knees buckled. "You're going to the hospital, too, Sandburg." Simon walked him to a waiting ambulance where a paramedic helped him onto a seat, put an oxygen mask on his face and put a blanket around his shoulders. Jim was unconscious on the stretcher, also with an oxygen mask. They were hooking an IV up to him. Simon leaned in and asked Blair, "Was there anyone else in the building?" The firefighters had arrived at the same time he had, and they seemed mainly occupied with trying to keep the neighboring buildings from catching fire.

"Yeah, Jay Richter, but he was already dead. Either Martin or Ms. Grant shot him. I think Jim knows who it was. Did you find her?"

"No. She's gone. We've got an all points out on her. We are definitely going to get her." Simon was determined to find the woman. He had listened in horror on the cell phone as she had taken shots at the anthropologist, and later as she told Sandburg that it was too late to save Jim. He was still several miles away when he'd heard it and had felt helpless and angry, wondering if he would arrive to find them both dead, but somehow the kid had managed to rescue Jim. It had been a tremendous act of courage. Every time he turned around it seemed as if Blair was doing something unexpected. His respect for the guy was growing every day. Looking at the burning building, he couldn't imagine what it had been like in there and he wondered if he'd have had the guts to go inside. The paramedics finished working on Jim and seemed to be ready to go. "I'll see you at the hospital, Sandburg." Simon wasn't sure he'd been heard, Blair was sitting with one hand on Jim's arm, looking as if he were going to burst into tears. Closing the ambulance doors and watching it pull away, he pushed away his own morbid thoughts. He refused to think that Jim might die.

Simon turned his attention to the second ambulance, where Martin Williamson was being worked on. He had put a pretty good sized hole in the man's arm, and it looked fairly serious, but Martin was conscious and screaming for his lawyer. Simon could barely contain the hostility he felt towards the man. He made sure the men had read him his rights. Simon wondered if Roland would defend his brother, once he knew the truth. "Have anything to say, Williamson?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Simon wanted to knock the sneer right off the man's face. "I'm sorry I missed."

Simon would never be able to erase from his memory the look on Blair's face just before Martin pulled the trigger. He clenched his fists. "I'm sure a jury would be interested to hear that."

"This will never make it to trial. I didn't kill anyone, at least not that you can prove. My brother will talk a jury into acquittal. You wait and see."

"What makes you think he's going to defend you after what you did to his daughter?"

Martin spoke with arrogant self-assurance. "I'm still family. He's obligated."

Jim had told him about Martin's sick relationship with his niece. "I wouldn't bet on it. You're going down for attempted murder at least. Why don't you just confess now and save the taxpayers some money."

Martin ignored him and winced in pain as the paramedic put a bandage on his arm. "I'm going to sue you and your department for this. I was handing the gun to Mr. Sandburg when you shot me. You were confused by the smoke."

"Yeah, right, so why did you fire the gun?"

Martin seemed to be forming the plan for his defense as he spoke. "Reflex action to being shot in the arm. You're darn lucky I didn't shoot the poor kid."

Simon really wanted to hit the man, and he supposed that Martin wanted him to as well. He turned instead to the uniformed officers standing nearby. "I want this piece of garbage watched like a hawk until we get him into a cell. He tried to kill two of my people, and I don't want any mistakes made."

The officers nodded. They would all be working harder, knowing that a member of the force had been hurt. The fire seemed to be contained, and Simon told the fire investigator about the body he would find in the building. No sign of Eleanor Grant had been found, but the airport, train and bus stations had been covered. When Simon was sure that everything was under control, he drove over to the hospital to check on Jim and Blair.

* * *

Jim opened his eyes and saw a bright light. He closed his eyes at the pain. Something was on his face, and he realized it was an oxygen mask. "Detective Ellison? Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you. Get that light out of my eyes." His voice sounded hoarse and scratchy. Where was he? "What's going on?"

"You're in the hospital, sir. There was a fire and you're suffering from smoke inhalation."

All of it came back to him in a rush. Martin, Eleanor, the shots. "Where's Blair?" He tried to sit up suddenly and was caught by a wave of nausea and dizziness.

"Blair?" Several hands were trying to force him back down onto the table.

"My partner, Blair Sandburg. Is he OK?" He braced himself. They were going to tell him that he'd been shot to death.

The doctor smiled at him, "Mr. Sandburg is in the next room, Detective. He's suffering from smoke inhalation too, but he'll be just fine."

"He wasn't shot?"

"No, sir. He's been pestering the nurses, though. He's very worried about you."

Relaxing a little, he closed his eyes and leaned back on the table, listening as the sounds of the doctors and nurses around him moved farther away. He must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again he was in a hospital room. The mask had been replaced with a plastic hose that was feeding oxygen in through his nose, and when he moved his arm, he saw that there was an IV attached to the back of his hand.

"Jim." He didn't recognize the low voice, and he turned his head, surprised to see that it was Blair occupying the bed next to his. "You OK, man?"

Jim swallowed, his throat felt dry and when he first tried to speak, nothing came out. He cleared his throat, and saw Blair gesturing to the water pitcher on the table next to him. He poured himself a cup and drank it. "I've felt better." Actually, he had felt a lot better. His back hurt, his head hurt, his chest hurt. In fact, it was hard for him to think of a place on his body that didn't hurt right now.

Blair grimaced, "Yeah, sorry man, that's my fault. You have three fractured ribs, a sprained wrist and a lot of bruises."

Jim was used to Sandburg blaming himself when things went wrong, but this time he didn't get it. "How is Eleanor Grant pushing me down the stairs your fault?"

Blair raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I thought you were hurt when I dropped you off the fire escape."

"You dropped me off of a fire escape?" He couldn't wait to hear the explanation for this.

"Yes, but the building was on fire, and I didn't really drop you. Well I did, but I dropped a mattress down first..." Jim could tell by the way his face was flushing that his partner was getting embarrassed. "It wasn't that far really, I just lost my grip. Sorry."

Simon walked in, glumly chewing on an unlit cigar, and smiled when he saw the two men awake and talking. "I see you two are among the living again."

"More or less." All the aches and pains were starting to feel very uncomfortable. Jim contemplated calling the nurse.

"Doc says you'll be fine. They're going to keep you both on oxygen for another few hours, though. You're in here for the night, at least."

A nurse walked in and looked at Simon's cigar in alarm. "There is oxygen in here, sir. Absolutely no smoking is allowed!" She was a plump, middle-aged woman with greying hair and a kind face.

"I know, I know. I'm not going to light it."

The woman didn't look convinced. "Do you know what happens when you light pure oxygen?"

"Yeah, I know. It goes boom. Seriously, I'm not going to light it."

"OK. Just so it's clear." She walked over to Jim's bed and checked his IV. "How are you feeling, Detective? Are you in any pain?"

"Some." He croaked.

"Mmmm. Let's see, in tough guy talk that translates to a lot. I'll check with the doctor and we'll get you something to help you sleep." She pulled out a blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around his arm.

Blair tore his concerned gaze away from his friend. "Simon, what's happening? Did you find Eleanor yet?" His voice cracked as he spoke and he fell into another spasm of coughing.

The nurse looked at him sternly, "Mr. Sandburg, you need to stop talking and rest."

Blair had turned pale, and he leaned back, not needing to be told twice. Jim thought he looked exhausted. Simon filled them in. "No. We've got everything covered and we still have no idea where she is. We may have lost her, but we've got Martin. He called his brother to defend him, but once I told Roland about the case we had against him, he went ballistic. We had to pull them apart to keep Roland from killing him. Martin's had to resort to a public defender. Did you see him shoot Richter, Jim?"

"No, I only heard it. I'm sure it was him, because Eleanor didn't have a gun." _Until she got mine._

"Well, we've got his gun. The tests should confirm it was him."

The nurse finished checking his blood pressure, admonished Jim and Blair not to waste their energy talking, then left to get a sedative and painkillers for Jim. The detective ignored her orders and in a croaking voice relayed the events leading up to the time he had passed out. When he looked over at Blair, hoping to have him finish the story, he saw that his friend had fallen asleep. Looking at him, he felt a sudden rush of affection for the younger man. "I don't know what happened after that, Simon. We'll have to ask Blair in the morning."

"Well, I can fill some of it in for you." Simon pulled out a pair of handcuffs that he'd retrieved from the doctor. The chain was broken in the middle. "It looks like Sandburg shot them off."

Jim shook his head in disbelief. "He used a gun? Blair hates guns."

"I don't suppose he had time to think about that, do you? Somehow the kid managed to drag you through a burning building, out onto the fire escape, and get you down the ladder. I have no idea how he did it."

"I do." Jim remembered Blair's comments about dropping him.

"I didn't see it, but he kept going on about how you hadn't been breathing. I think he brought you back. You owe him big on this one, Jim."

"I owe him for a lot of things." Jim felt the guilt coming back. "He wanted to back me up and I wouldn't let him. I was afraid he'd get hurt."

The nurse came back, carrying a tray with a syringe. She scowled at Simon, "Are you still here pestering my patients? It's time for you to go home. You can work on your case tommorow."

Simon smiled at her, "Yes, ma'am. Look, Jim, it's all water under the bridge now. You're both alive and that's all that matters." He eyed the nurse who was still standing there looking at him. "I'm gonna get out of here now, before she hurts me. Take it easy, Jim."

Jim raised a hand in farewell as Simon left. The nurse inserted the syringe into the tube running to his hand, saying, "This will make you feel much better, Detective." Almost immediately he began to feel warm all over as the drugs cushioned his pain, and he thankfully slipped into the dark comfort of sleep.

* * *

Blair and Jim were in Simon's office. It had been three days since the fire, and both men were feeling more or less back to normal, although Jim was still wearing bandage on his sprained wrist. His ribs were healing nicely, but Simon had assigned him to some light work for a few weeks. There hadn't been any major developments in the case. Ballistics had confirmed that the gun that killed Jay Richter had indeed belonged to Martin Williamson, and the handle of the gun matched the indentation in Alice Williamson's skull. Although Martin hadn't confessed, the DA seemed certain that they would get a conviction on the circumstantial evidence they had, including Jim's testimony.

Simon seemed pleased that the case was so strong. "We've got him on two counts of murder and two counts of attempted murder."

Jim looked confused, "I understand the attempted murder charge for what he did to me, what's the other one for?"

Blair realized as Jim said it that they'd never told him about the incident in the alley. Blair had been worried about upsetting him too much in the hospital, and after that it had just slipped his mind. The entire night had begun to fade away like a bad dream.

Simon cleared his throat, "When I arrived on the scene, Martin had a gun to Sandburg's head. I had to shoot him to keep him from blowing Blair's head off."

Blair seemed to realize for the first time that Simon had saved his life. "Thanks, Simon. I'm sorry I didn't say anything before, man."

Simon brushed it off before Blair could get emotional. "It's no problem. The point is that even though we don't have any witnesses to the murders, just a load of circumstantial evidence, all three of us can testify against him on the attempted murders. He's going to prison for a long time. If we could just find Eleanor Grant, I'd be happy. We've sent out photos to the FBI, but we don't have the manpower to pursue her ourselves."

Jim and Blair discussed the details of the case for a while longer, then spent the rest of the day filling out paperwork and talking to the DA. When they finally quit, it was dinner time. Jim drove to Blair's favorite restaurant this time. "Why didn't you tell me about Martin?"

Blair shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I didn't think about it. It didn't seem real when it happened, you know? You were lying there and I was scared to death that you were going to stop breathing again when suddenly this guy comes up and sticks a gun in my face. It was just one thing too many. I overloaded. If Simon hadn't been there, we'd both be dead."

Jim drove silently for a moment, absorbing what Blair had said. "That was a hell of a thing you did, Blair, going into a burning building like that. It was really stupid." He turned and looked Blair in the eyes. "Thank you."

Blair looked embarrassed. "You would have done the same thing for me. It's about time I paid you back for all the times you saved my butt."

"I wanted to apologize, Chief. What I said about not caring what you thought..."

"Jim, you don't have to say anything. Just, next time when I tell you I want to back you up, let me do it, OK?"

"Maybe." Jim was smiling now.

"What do you mean, maybe?"

"It depends on the circumstances. You're still not a cop. I admit that I was wrong about not taking you into Tommy's with me, but I'm not going to put a civilian in any danger if I can help it."

Blair huffed in exasperation. "So now I'm a civilian, huh?" He knew Jim was just teasing him, but he always knew how to get him worked up.

"And another thing, Sandburg..."

_Uh-oh, here it comes._

"How exactly are you planning on paying for the damage to the truck?"

"What? You're gonna make me pay for it? What about the insurance?"

"There's still the deductible, Chief. Tell you what."There's still the deductible, Chief. Tell you what. I've got some errands I need run, you can work it off."

Blair looked at Jim and saw the inscrutible smile on his face. When he looked like that, Blair was never sure if he was serious or not. "Like, what kind of errands?"

"Oh, I'm sure I can come up with something."

~~~The End~~~

* * *

This story contains violence. It was written between November 1996 and January 1997.


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